Chapter 2: Like Mother Like Son

It's tough being a single parent.

Understatement of the fucking century.

Cheryl found herself alone quite early on in her parenting journey. Her husband had been a navy fighter pilot, and he had died serving his country. She was showered with sympathy by everyone imaginable: not just family and friends, but also her husband's comrades and superior officers and seemingly the entire navy. All of it was beyond overwhelming. They heaped on praise because he had made a sacrifice most people couldn't even imagine. At the time, she couldn't have cared less what they said. All the pretty words in the world meant nothing. She just wanted her partner back.

The worst part was that her son, Pete, wouldn't know him like she did. He was still so young when his dad had died. Given the circumstances, Cheryl felt an even greater pressure to be everything and more to him. How she was going to do that, she had no idea. But she would try. She loved her son more than anything in the whole wide world. She'd do anything for him.

Cheryl didn't have any family around to assist her. The in-laws had passed many years ago. The only family she had was her mother and three brothers, who all lived far away. She barely saw them outside of the holidays. She scrambled around for years, trying to make it all work, trying to keep their little family in order, trying to hold herself and everything else in the world together and failing over and over, trial and error being her only teacher.

She had never felt so alone.

Cheryl managed to find a few babysitters. She hated leaving her boy with near-strangers, but she didn't have much of a choice. She could be there for Pete during the summer months, but come autumn, she was needed to teach English at the high school. She usually placed her son in the care of one of her neighbors, other mothers who empathized with her situation. Eventually though, one by one, they all quit. Pete could be quite obstinate. Cheryl reached out to her fellow teachers, acquaintances from town hall meetings, the neighbors a few blocks over, looking for someone, anyone, who would be willing to babysit her little brat. The well was beginning to run dry.

Cheryl argued often with her son. He made her so angry, angrier than she even thought possible. Some days she was just so sick of him and his smug little face. Pete constantly placed himself in the middle of dangerous situations. Cheryl deeply regretted gifting him a bike for Christmas. He only used the thing for ridiculously stupid stunts and not much else. Each summer he covered every last inch of his body in bruises, as if that was his main goal in life. Cheryl tried, with little success, to get him to wear the usual knee-pad/elbow-pad combo. Apparently it made him look "totally uncool" and "stupid." She was sick of talking about it, so she let it go. If he wanted to skin his knees and elbows to the bone, so be it. She applied a bit of tough love. Sometimes you had to learn a lesson the hard way, after all. But there was one piece of safety gear she would not budge on.

"You need to wear a helmet," Cheryl declared, shoving the thing into her son's face. "You are not leaving this house until you put it on."

Pete pushed it away from him with a grimace of disgust. "No! It's stupid! I'll look stupid!"

Cheryl chuckled at his pouty little frown. "Listen, sweetie, you're already looking pretty stupid, so I'm sure a helmet won't hurt."

Pete folded his arms and glared at his feet. "I don't wanna," he grumbled.

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Well, you're not leaving here without it, so—"

"Watch me!" Pete retorted. He whipped around, grabbed the doorknob, and threw open the front door.

Cheryl's face burned with anger. Now his bratty behavior wasn't so unintentionally adorable anymore. She put her hand on the door and slammed it shut again. "You better watch it," she growled, jabbing a commanding finger into his face. "If you don't cut it out right now, you are gonna be in some serious trouble." She held the helmet out to him. "Just put it on and then we can all move on with our lives."

"But Mom!" Pete whined. "I'm gonna look sooooo stuuuuupid!"

"You wanna smash your skull open and splatter your brain juices all over the street?! You know how stupid you're gonna look then?!"

Pete stared up at his mom, eyes widening in sheer terror. He took the helmet from her and put it on his head.

Cheryl cracked a smile. "See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" She patted him on the head then opened the door for him.

Pete stumbled outside, still a bit shell-shocked. He found his bike where he had abandoned it by the mailbox. As he rode off, he caught his mother watching him through the curtains. He rolled his eyes. He loved his mom so much, but she did annoy him at times, what with her worrying about silly things and all. He'd pulled off many crazy stunts already—most of which his mom had no idea about—and he'd survived all of them. And with no helmet! Silly Mom! If only she could see how tough and amazing he was! Nothing could touch him!

Pete wound his way through the suburban streets, traveling far, far from home. It was the beginning of a special time in American history: when kids were king. Right then, in the height of summertime, the streets were crawling with children of every shape and size, some riding bikes, some jumping rope, some just running around like crazed heathens, all of them enamored with their newfound freedom.

Pete took his bike into the small patch of forest between the neighborhoods and the high school. The path was severely overgrown this time of year, taken over by mounds of long grass and Queen Anne's lace and golden rod, but he managed to make his way through. After a few minutes of fighting through nature, he met up with his friends by the ravine.

They too lived in the neighborhood, not all that far from Pete's home. Well, then again, no house was too far away when you had a bike. They were his best friends, though they were all quite different. Evan was the cool but somewhat snobby kid from the rich part of town. Dexter was perhaps the nerdiest, most uncool kid ever to walk the face of the Earth. His Coke bottle glasses were so huge, they could probably be used to see across the ocean.

Evan wrinkled up his nose. "Thanks for finally showing up."

"We thought you'd never get here!" Dexter said with a snort.

"Yeah, sorry," Pete sighed. "My mom was being super annoying again." He tapped his helmet with a scoff. "She wouldn't even let me leave 'til I wore this stupid thing." He fiddled with the helmet's buckles, which still hung loose around his pouty frown. "Well, guess what? When I'm big, and I get my wings, I'm not wearing any helmet at all and nobody's gonna tell me what to do, definitely not my stupid mom!" He shouted up into the trees, as if she were an omniscient presence that heard all.

Dexter groaned worriedly and pushed his massive glasses back up onto his nose. They slid down constantly and he never bothered with trying to fix them. "But, Peter," he began, voice cracking with anxiety, "if you join the navy, you'll have commanding officers, and you have to listen to them! Otherwise you'll get in big trouble!" He snorted. "Also, you'll most definitely have to wear a helmet when you fly, seeing as there's no oxygen at such high altitudes! Didn't your mom ever tell you that? Your dad was a pilot, right? So your mom probably knows all about that stuff, right?"

Pete gripped his handlebars tighter. He hated these questions. He didn't want to think about all the answers he didn't have.

He didn't know too much about his old man. Well, he knew quite a bit really, but he was always hungry for more. He knew his father had died serving his country. He knew he was a kind, funny, witty sort of person, an awful lot like his mother. He knew how much his mom loved him and missed him.

Maybe that's why she didn't talk about him a lot. Maybe it hurt too much. Pete wanted to press her, he wanted to hear stories about him every single day, but he wouldn't do it, not if it made his mom so sad. He'd seen it a few times, the darkness in her eyes, all the pain deep inside. Although so much time had passed, it seemed it could not heal all wounds after all.

Pete hoped he'd never know a sadness like that.

What was worse? Never getting to know someone? Or knowing them, loving them, and then having to lose them? Looking at his mom, he knew it had to be the latter.

Pete had been silent for several awkward moments, so Dexter dropped the subject.

"Hey, let's go over there!" Dexter yelled suddenly, pointing to the other side of the ravine.

"Yes, please," Evan breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm bored. Let's go already."

The two hopped off their bikes and walked them down into the ravine, carefully and slowly and so so slowly.

Pete watched them, eye twitching with impatience. He could actually feel the boredom weighing him down. "Oh, come on!" he groaned, slouching his shoulders. "You guys are loooosers!"

Evan scoffed. "Whatever."

Dexter gave a thumbs-up. "Safety first!"

Pete shook his head at them. His friends started to climb up the other side, slipping and stumbling all the way. Eventually they reached the top. Well, he'd get there too. But he'd do it the fast way.

Pete backed up his bike several feet. He needed to get some momentum going to get to the other side. If he just got up enough speed, he'd be able to simply sail up the incline, no peddling required.

Dexter and Evan shared a glance. They already knew what he was planning.

Dexter cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Don't do it, Peter! You'll get hurt!"

Evan waved dismissively. "Don't even bother. He never listens."

The two watched—Dexter terrified and Evan vaguely bored—as their dear friend peddled his bike and picked up speed, going faster and faster and faster each passing second.

Dexter let out a little "eep" of fear. "I can't look!" he squeaked, slapping his hands over his bug-eye glasses. But he peeked through his fingers anyway.

Pete at last reached the edge of the ravine. He plummeted down, dropping faster than a bag of bricks. Evan and Dexter peered over the edge. They didn't quite witness the crash, but they saw the aftermath. Pete lay face down beside a rather large boulder. A few feet away lay the bike, its wheels still spinning.

"Oh my God, he's dead!" Dexter screeched. "Who's gonna tell his mom?!"

Evan put a finger on his nose. "Not it!"

Suddenly, Pete sprang up from the ground, hands over his head. Dexter let out another screech.

"That was awesome!" Pete shouted. "Did you see that?! Did you see what I did?! How'd it look from up there?!"

"You looked dead," Evan told him bluntly. "Like super dead."

The observation did nothing to dampen Pete's enthusiasm. "I went so so fast, everything was just a blur and then—" He broke off, touching his hands to his head. "Wait, where's my helmet?"

"Over there!" Dexter pointed to a pile of leaves beside the boulder. "It must've fell off when you hit that rock!"

Pete scoffed. "See?! Told you guys it was stupid! I never even needed it at all!"

"Are you okay?" Dexter demanded frantically. "Did you hit your head?"

Pete felt around the back of his head. "N-no, I'm fine! Really! I'm just kinda dizzy, but—" His eyes widened. "Uh-oh…"

"What? What's 'uh-oh?'"

Pete showed him his blood-covered palms.

Dexter gagged. "Oh, no, I—" He gagged again. "I can't look at blood, I—" He gagged once more.

Evan grimaced and backed away. "Oh, Jesus. You really did it this time! You probably have a concussion!"

Pete felt a small prickle of anxiety. He probably had hit his head pretty hard after all. He had blacked out for at least a few seconds, now that he thought about it.

Dexter abandoned his bike and made his way down the ravine, slipping on pebbles and tripping on the occasional root. He snatched up Pete's helmet then picked his bike out of the dirt.

"We should probably go talk to your mom," he said.

Pete nodded in agreement. For once he was too tired to argue. He felt just a little dizzier than he had moments ago.

Dexter looked up at Evan. "You gonna come with us?"

Evan sniffed and gave a shrug. "Nah, I'm good." He got on his bike and rode off. "Later, Pete!" he called. "Hope you don't die!"

Pete ignored him and started his climb up the ravine. Dexter trailed behind, lugging his friend's bike up the incline.

"Just leave it," Pete sighed. "It's busted anyway."

"No way!" Dexter replied. "Never leave your bike! That's what my parents always tell me." He let out a grunt as he finally pushed his way over the top of the hill. "Anyway, it's not busted too bad. I bet you can still fix it!"

Pete looked at his bike, its back wheel hopelessly bent and chain half off. He looked at his friend, with his ever optimistic grin. He smiled back. "Thanks."

"Any time!"

The two made their way down the grassy path and back out into the neighborhood. The symphony of screaming children and barking dogs once again filled the air.

"You really should be more careful, you know," Dexter murmured.

Pete scoffed and angrily kicked a chunk of gravel. "You sound like my mom."

After a long, bike-less trek through the neighborhood, the guys reached their destination.

Pete stared up at his house, feeling a great sense of foreboding. He dragged himself up the walk. "I'm probably gonna be grounded for the rest of my life."

Dexter knocked on the front door and waited with his friend. Neither of them dared to even breathe. Eventually, the door squeaked open. Pete's mom stared down at them, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

Dexter smiled. "Good afternoon, Ms. Mitchell!"

"What happened?" she sighed in reply.

Pete looked to Dexter. Dexter turned to him. Pete sighed. He thought his friend would help him smooth things over. Apparently not. He looked up at his mom, hoping his big puppy dog eyes would calm her temper.

"Umm, I, uhh, fell off my bike," he muttered. His mom narrowed her eyes. Pete wanted to look away but he was frozen in her glare.

"Of course you did," she muttered, jabbing her finger at the doorway. "Get inside." She forced a small smile for poor Dexter, who stood there expectantly. "You can go home now, Dexter."

He nodded quickly. "Yes, Ms. Mitchell!" He hurried back across the lawn. "See you at school, Pete!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Pete sighed and trudged into the house. He hardly expected to see his friend or anyone else ever again after his mother was through with him.

Cheryl pointed commandingly to the stairs. "Upstairs. Bathroom. Now."

Pete rolled his eyes and dragged himself up the steps, as slow as humanly possible. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered.

"And lose the attitude!"

Cheryl flipped on every light in the bathroom and frantically checked him over for injuries. A few light scratches on his hands, some bruises on his knees, but nothing too major.

Pete made a fuss the whole time, huffing and fidgeting and complaining. "Mom, I'm fine," he repeated for the hundredth time.

Cheryl ignored him. Then suddenly, something occurred to her. She put her hands into his hair and carefully prodded around. "Did you hit your head?" she asked. Before he could answer, she felt a warm, wet spot near the back of his head. Her hands came away red, red with blood, her son's blood. She shot to her feet, heart pounding. With shaking hands, she turned on the faucet and washed away the blood. "Did you lose consciousness?" she demanded.

Pete gave a shrug. "Just for a second."

Cheryl massaged her forehead with a loud groan of frustration. "'Just for a—'Pete, it doesn't matter if it was 'just for a second!' A head injury is very serious, that's—" She broke off with a huff. "Okay. Come on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Pete frowned at her. "What? But I'm fine. I feel fine."

"You are hurt," Cheryl sighed. God, she was so tired of this kid. "We are going, whether you like it or not. Now come on." She grabbed his arm, but he pulled away from her.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you a doctor now? We are going, and that's final."

Pete folded his arms. "No."

Cheryl gritted her teeth. "Yes. Now, be quiet and let's just—"

"But Mom, I—"

Cheryl finally snapped. She grabbed up the soap dispenser and slammed it down into the sink, because her anger and frustration was just too much and she had to let it out somehow. The thing hit the porcelain and cracked, and it was much louder than she thought it would be, so loud it made her son flinch, but she didn't particularly care.

"For once in your life just stop fucking fighting me! Please!"

Pete took a step back from her. His mother was quiet now. She just stood there, one hand grasping the sink, the other rubbing her eyes. He could hear her quietly sniffling. Oh, no. Was she crying? He didn't want his mom to cry. He felt sick. He knew he'd gone too far.

Pete edged towards his mother, slowly and carefully. He placed a little hand on her arm. "Mom, I'm sorry," he murmured. "We can go now."

Cheryl sniffed and gave a nod. "Good," she croaked. "Come on."

The car ride to the hospital was a quiet one. Pete felt a million miles away from his mom, staring helplessly at the back of her head from all the way in the back seat. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea what.

"Hey, Pete?"

He snapped to attention. "Y-yeah?" he squeaked.

"Can you promise me something?"

Her voice sounded uncharacteristically small. Pete nodded quickly. "Yes," he replied.

"I'm not asking you to change completely. Just…promise you'll be just a teeny tiny bit more careful. Please? For me?"

"Yes, Mom, I promise."

From that day on, things were different between him and his mom. Yes, he was still a troublemaker, of course he was. But he knew where the line was, and he didn't dare cross it.

The years passed, friends and family and neighbors came and went. The one constant was him and his mom, the two musketeers. They didn't always get along. But they loved each other, more than anyone else in the whole world.

Pete would be off to college before long. He had it all planned out—well, more or less. He would miss his mom, though he had not admitted that to anyone, not even himself. He tried not to think about it too much.

He was surprised to find his mom alone in the kitchen that morning. She'd been out pretty late last night. He figured she'd brought home another guy, but apparently not. His mom had been dating a lot the past few years. Honestly, most of it was one night stands. But his mom still called it "dating," as if Pete wasn't old enough to know what was going on.

Pete said good morning to her then left in a hurry, as usual. He could see his mom was busy grading essays anyway. She kept on muttering about the lack of Oxford commas.

Pete's bus was the first to arrive at the school. The place was actually well within walking distance, but he preferred taking the bus. Mostly because there were girls on the bus. And not just any girls, but popular, unfathomably attractive girls, like Ava Evans. Every morning and evening bus ride, every single day for months and months, he'd been chatting her up. And all his hard work had finally paid off last weekend, one of the best weekends of his life.

The two agreed to meet up first thing Monday morning. Pete went straight to his locker, popped on his shades, leaned against the wall all casual like, and waited for her arrival. In the meantime, he gave a polite wave and a wink to all the girls and a fist-bump to all the guys. He wasn't one of the most popular guys in school, but he was well-liked. He had a healthy amount of friends, including one of his oldest buddies, Dexter. A few minutes later he joined Pete by his locker. He hadn't changed much—still with the same nerdy voice, still with the same giant glasses.

"Good morning, Peter!" he greeted his friend, adjusting his hopelessly crooked glasses.

Pete gave a nod. "Mornin.'"

Dexter leaned against the lockers. "So how'd you spend the weekend? I'm sure it was as exciting as always!"

"Oh, yeah, of course. I had an absolutely wonderful date with Ava Evans."

"The Ava Evans?" Dexter gasped. "She's the most beautiful girl in the school!"

Pete let out a contented sigh. "She sure is."

"So she broke up with that football player? I honestly thought they'd be together forever!"

"Well, she promised that after our date, she'd definitely break up with him…"

Dexter's eyes bugged out. "What?! And you believed her?!"

Pete shrugged. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because seniors always lie to the underclassman! It's all they do! Peter, you're gonna be in big big big trouble when he finds out!"

Pete rolled his eyes. This guy seriously needed to chill out. "Dexter, everything's gonna be fine. I trust her. She really likes me. She wouldn't lie."

Dexter groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, I think I'm developing a migraine…"

Pete ignored him and continued with his story. "I took her to that new Italian place. After that we drove to the park. Had to borrow her boyfriend's car, but—"

"You did what?" Dexter hissed. "Oh, you're really playing with fire here. Why his car?"

Pete sighed. "Well, Dex, my mom had the car for the night, and Ava's was in the shop, so…"

Dexter buried his face in his hands. "Oh, you're a dead man walking…"

"So we hung out at the park for a while, parked at a lovely spot by the pond, and…well, ya know…"

"And then what?" Dexter whispered.

Pete gave a nonchalant shrug. "Hey, I don't kiss and tell." That got Dexter even more panicked than before. He kept on groaning and sighing and lamenting his friend's imminent death. Pete once again ignored him and peered down the hallway, hoping to see Ava, but she was nowhere in sight. It seemed everybody but Ava was there.

A rather large and imposing figure came through the horde of students. Everyone parted like the Red Sea to make way for him. Even if you didn't know he was the "Say-No-To-Drugs!" guy who made guest appearances in health classes, you knew him well. He was the school's resident police officer. The kids either respected him, were intimidated by him, or both. Pete certainly wasn't the least bit intimidated by the guy.

The officer eventually caught sight of Pete and made his way over to him. Pete greeted him with a smile and a little salute. Dexter was the opposite, standing stock-still, brows crumpled with worry.

The police officer removed his cap and gave a nod. "Good morning, Pete," he greeted him with his quiet yet stern voice.

"Good morning, Officer Flynn."

"Staying out of trouble, I hope?"

"Oh, of course I am." Pete raised an eyebrow. "But if I wasn't, do you really think I would tell you?"

Flynn opened his mouth, then shut it again. He nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose that's a good point."

"I know, right?"

Flynn stood there, awkwardly silent, nervously fingering his cap. "So…"

Pete grinned knowingly. "So…"

"How is, umm…How is your mother doing?"

Pete nodded. "Why don'tcha go ask her yourself?"

Flynn stared for a moment. Then he nodded as well. "That…that's a good point. I'll do just that." He put his cap back on. "Have a good day, gentlemen," he said as he departed.

Dexter shook his head in confusion. "What was that all about?"

"Long story," Pete told him.

"MITCHELL!"

Pete froze. He knew that voice. Chase, the gargantuan star football player and Ava's boyfriend was marching towards him, face red and crumpled with pure, unbridled rage. Pete caught the quickest glimpse of Ava, who trailed behind him.

"Woah, is-is that the time?" Dexter glanced at his wrist, his very watch-less wrist. "I-I just remembered I have to go somewhere very far away now okay bye!" Then he quickly scurried away like a frightened weasel.

Pete steeled himself as Chase finally arrived. The behemoth stood mere inches from him, glowering and clenching his fists. Pete attempted to appear unfazed. He was failing.

Chase narrowed his eyes. "Is it true?" he demanded.

Pete gulped. Oh, shit! He knows, he knows! Well, he had a good run. Time to accept that his life would soon come to an end. A mega strong football player versus a scrawny sixteen-year-old? Everyone knew who the victor would be.

Pete straightened up and tried to look as big as he could, like a little cat puffing out its fur. "Is-is what true?" he asked, voice cracking every other word.

Chase jabbed a finger into Pete's ribs. "You know what," he growled. "Ava told me everything."

Pete searched for Ava. She poked her head out from behind the football player, flashing a nervous grin. "You told him?" Pete hissed.

Ava grimaced and mouthed, Sorry.

Pete stared at her, shocked and hurt. "I thought…you said you'd break up with him! You promised me!"

"I'm sorry, Pete," she sighed. "It's just, like, I'm too old to be dating sophomores, ya know? I'm going off to college soon and all that stuff. I got a lot to think about. I've grown and changed so much since our date, so—"

"What?!" Pete cut her off. "That was two days ago! How do y-?"

Chase grabbed Pete by his shirt collar and lifted him off his feet. "Shut the hell up," he snapped and Pete let out a terrified whimper. "So it's all true, huh? You really did all that stuff?"

Pete's face burned. He glanced down at Ava, but she refused to make eye contact. He chuckled nervously. "Uhh, that depends, umm, what 'stuff' are we talking about exactly?"

"You know what I mean," Chase shot back. "Did you guys seriously do all that stuff in my car?"

Pete cleared his throat. "I mean, we, umm…Yes?" he squeaked. "I mean, it happened in your car and also around your car and, umm, on your car, yes."

Chase gritted his teeth and yanked him even closer. "Pete Mitchell, you are dead meat," he hissed. At last, he released him. He poked Pete's forehead. "3 PM. Back parking lot. Be there." Then he stalked away.

Pete sucked in a wheezy breath. He realized he'd completely forgotten to breathe for several moments.

"Aww, you poor thing!" Ava rubbed his arms comfortingly. "Are you okay?"

"No," Pete sighed.

"Look, for what it's worth, I had a nice time at the, uhh, well, ya know…"

"The park?"

"Right, yeah! I mean, that stuff was fun. It's just more, ya know, your personality that's, umm…It just wouldn't have worked out, is what I'm saying."

Pete just stared at her, completely floored. He couldn't even find the words.

"Well, guess I'll see you later, Pete! Good luck with the, umm…"

"Fight?" he muttered miserably.

"Right, yeah! Later!" She gave a little wave then hurried away.

Pete remained where she'd left him, wallowing in self-pity.

Personality? Seriously?

At exactly 3 PM that day, Pete Mitchell journeyed to the school's back parking lot to meet his grim fate. Dexter had begged him not to go through with it. Why not just go home and spare himself the beating? But Pete knew full well that if he avoided this, the situation would only get worse. The last thing he wanted was to have the entire football team out for his head. Best to just do what Chase wanted and get it over with.

The late afternoon air was damp and cold, the sky gray with rain clouds. There had been a down-pour a few hours earlier, and the decrepit, pothole filled parking lot had been given several small ponds. Discarded pencils and fast food wrappers floated atop iridescent pools of rain water.

Pete scowled at the great expanse of watery filth. Great, now on top of having his brains beat out, he would also be drenched in disgusting sludge.

Chase was waiting for him, smirking in satisfaction. A small group of students joined him, pacing around the lot and occasionally watching with vague curiosity. Every single one of them grimaced and whispered amongst themselves as soon as they saw Pete Mitchell enter the scene. He couldn't quite make out the contents of their conversations, but he was positive that all of them concerned his imminent death.

The fight went well. Maybe not well, exactly, but Pete figured he'd gotten off easy, all things considered. Chase seemed to be a bit too tired to lay into him. The worst injury Pete got was a real nasty black-eye. It wasn't so much the pain that made it terrible, but rather all the attention he received because of it. Every student that crossed his path either scowled in disgust or offered up heaps of pity. Pete hated all of it. The bus ride home was unbearable. Whatever scrap of popularity he'd managed to procure over the years, he had almost certainly lost it in one fell-swoop.

The bus stopped at Pete's block and his worrying began anew. He'd completely forgotten about his mom. How the hell was he going to hide this from her? If she saw what had happened to him, she'd spiral into a horrible pit of anxiety from whence there was no escape.

Pete put in his key and opened the door. He peeked his head in and called out, "Mom?"

No answer. She must've had a staff meeting to attend. Or she had more essays to grade, more Oxford commas to add.

Pete slammed the door and hurried up the stairs. He abandoned his bag in the hall, ducked into the bathroom, and flipped on every light, just as his mom did when assessing injuries. For the first time, he looked into the mirror and was taken back by his reflection. His left eye was nearly swollen shut. His skin was splattered with brown and black bruises. He needed to fix this, he needed to make this go away right now.

Pete opened up the medicine cabinet and rifled through, pushing aside tiny half empty bottles of various substances and boxes of Band-Aids. He had no idea what he was even looking for. He wanted something that didn't exist, something that made black-eyes heal instantly. Shiner-Away! It was hopeless, he was hopeless. He continued his desperate search nonetheless.

Downstairs, the front door opened, then closed again.

Pete froze with fear. Shit shit shit!

"Hey, Pete!" his mom shouted up the stairs. "You home yet?"

Pete stayed quiet and searched through the cabinet some more. He hoped she'd give up after a moment.

"Okay, how many times do I need to tell you, stop leaving your crap in the middle of the hall," his mom sighed loudly.

Pete whipped his head around. Man, she was fast. And quiet as a ninja.

"Someday one of us is gonna trip and get seriously hurt," she went on. "With my luck, probably me."

Dammit. Pete scrambled to close the door, but it was too late. His mom was standing there, right outside the room, eyes big with shock.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded.

"Uhh, nothing!" Pete lied uselessly. He attempted to slam the door in her face, but his mom slapped both hands on the door and pushed back against him. Of course she'd been prepared. By this point, she could practically read his mind. "Everything's fine!" he insisted. "I'm taking care of it!"

"Oh, like hell!" his mom growled. "Open the door!"

Pete sighed. Of course she was having none of it. She kept on pushing, straining to get the door open, but he was more than capable of holding her off. A few years ago, he probably wouldn't have had the strength.

Thank God for puberty.

"I am getting into this room, one way or another!" his mom declared.

"Mom, don't worry, I'm fine," Pete sighed. "Really, it's not…as bad…as it looks!" He pushed his shoulder into the door, putting his full weight against it, until his mom was, at last, forced to let the door close.

Pete let out a breath and returned to studying his battered eye. Strangely, his mother didn't attempt to open the door, though she very well could have. There was no lock, after all. Then he felt it: her anger practically penetrating into the room.

"Pete Mitchell, you open this door right now," she snarled.

Pete gulped. He supposed he should do as she said. Otherwise, the punishment would no doubt be worse. He turned the knob, and slowly, slowly opened the door. His mother's glare sent shivers down his spine.

She stood there still as a statue, eyes narrowed, face red with rage. She marched into the room and Pete dutifully backed away from her. She jabbed an angry finger into his terrified face.

"Don't you ever, ever use your strength against me ever again."

Pete whimpered fearfully and nodded.

"Don't think you can get away with shit like that just because you're gonna be an adult soon. 'Cause right now you're still a stupid kid, and you live under my roof, and life's gonna get pretty god-damn miserable if you don't treat your mother with respect." Her one eye twitched with anger. "Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, ma'am," Pete croaked.

Cheryl put the toilet seat down then pointed to it. "Sit," she ordered.

He did as she said.

"Now, wait right here," she sighed. "I'll be back."

Pete sat there, wringing his hands, feeling guilty. His mom returned a few minutes later, holding what looked like a balled-up towel.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"Damn right you are," she muttered in reply. She handed the cold, wet towel to him. "I got some ice for you. Put that against your eye, but don't press too hard, all right?"

Pete nodded and gently laid the ice bundle against his injury. "Thanks," he sighed.

"You're very welcome. Now…" Cheryl clapped her hands together. "What's the story?"

Pete hesitated. "Uhh, this guy, Chase, he's a football player, and he, umm, beat me up," he mumbled quickly.

Cheryl shook her head, once again having none of it. "And why'd he do that? You were just minding your own business and then he started kicking the shit out of you?" She rolled her eyes. "Kid, if I don't find out now, I'll find out later. I work at your school, so I've got connections, all right?" She motioned with her hand for him to continue. "Come on, out with it."

Pete chewed nervously on his lip. "I just, uhh, I kinda went out with his girlfriend then he, umm, found out about it."

Cheryl frowned thoughtfully. "I see. So this is all your fault?"

"No," Pete huffed. "Ava promised me she'd break up with him after we went on our date. She lied. If anything it was her fault."

Cheryl nodded. "Okay," she murmured. "So she made you an extra special pinkie promise that she'd break up with her long-term boyfriend. After you guys go on a date, of course." She snorted in amusement. "Pete, it sounds to me like she was just lying to get laid."

"…Yeah, that's…Yeah, basically…"

"Word of advice: only date single girls. Understand?"

"Yeah, I know that now," Pete grumbled.

Cheryl smirked. "Hey, no worries. Plenty of other fish in the sea. But you probably already knew that. You've been on quite a few dates already."

Pete shifted in discomfort. He really did not want to talk about his love life with his mom. "Yeah, I guess," he muttered.

"Just be careful," she said, patting his shoulder. "I really hope you're using protection."

"Oh, Mom!" Pete groaned, slapping his hands over his face in embarrassment. "For God's sake…"

Cheryl chuckled. "Because if you get a girl pregnant, you better believe I'm not coming to save your sorry ass."

Pete just stared at the floor through his fingers, thoroughly mortified.

"Hey, I'm just saying! Fool around all you want, but you still have to be responsible about it!"

Pete smiled smugly. "Ya know, you fool around a lot more than—"

"Oh, don't even try to embarrass me, kiddo," Cheryl chuckled through her words. "I have no shame."

Pete laughed a little. "Okay, okay…"

"Nice try, though!" Cheryl ruffled her son's hair. He smiled up at her, still with the ice pressed to his eye. "You okay?" she asked. "Does it hurt?"

Pete shook his head. "It's a lot better now, thanks."

"Good. Now, make sure you keep icing that shiner. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. We're gonna switch to a warm compress later on, 'kay?"

Pete nodded slowly, impressed by her knowledge. "Yes, ma'am."

His mom patted his head and then turned to leave. "Feel better soon, ya big idiot!"

A few weeks later, Pete's eye had healed completely. He was relieved to find that he was still well-liked by many of the students. It seemed his popularity hadn't completely evaporated. Best of all, some of the girls believed him to be quite brave after his confrontation. He didn't have it in him to return their affections, however. After Ava, he decided he'd take a break from dating for a while.

His mom had been watching him like a hawk. After the fight she'd been driving him to school and back home again. She wanted to ensure that he didn't get himself into more trouble.

Pete tried to get to the buses quickly and stealthily to avoid her, but it never worked. That very afternoon, in fact, he very nearly made it onto his bus. But at the very last moment, a hand grabbed him by his backpack and pulled him off the vehicle. He turned to see his mom standing there, frowning.

"Oh, no, Mister," she scolded. "You're riding home with me."

Pete groaned. "Mom, come on…"

She ignored him and started down the sidewalk, motioning for him to follow with a commanding wave.

Pete trudged after her. "You ever gonna let me ride the bus ever again?"

Cheryl shrugged. "At some point, yeah. But for now, I'm keeping my eye on you." She looked him up and down. "I'm gonna make sure you don't get in another fight."

"I've learned my lesson, believe me."

"I'll be the judge of that," Cheryl chuckled. "You think you'll ever stop learning lessons the hard way?"

Pete cracked a smile. "Probably not."

The two made their way out the back doors and into the parking lot. The air was pleasantly warm today. The sun had begun to peek from the clouds at long last.

Cheryl unlocked her car and got into the driver's seat. Her son stood outside, looking a bit defiant. She huffed and rolled down the window. "Come on, kid," she said. "Let's go."

Pete smiled. "Thought maybe you'd like to talk to him first." He pointed over his shoulder.

Cheryl shook her head in confusion. But then her son stepped aside, and she saw exactly who he was talking about. It was him again. Adam Flynn, the police officer. He was headed right for them. Her heart raced. She started to check herself in the mirror, but she realized that would be too obvious, so she stopped. The officer stood beside her car and politely removed his hat, like he always did. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Pete then turned back to Cheryl.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Mitchell," he greeted her.

Cheryl flashed a grin. "Aww, come on, don't be like that. Aren't we on a first name basis by now, Adam?"

He cleared his throat. "I-I suppose so, umm, if you'd like." He nervously grasped his hat, eyes darting. "So, how've you been, Cheryl?"

"Oh, I'm just fine, Adam," she replied in her sweetest voice. "And how are you?"

Adam nodded. "I'm well. Listen, I've been thinking—Well, I remembered…" he trailed off, gaze dropping to the ground.

Cheryl raised her eyebrows. "Yeah? What did you remember?"

Adam looked at her again. "You remember the town meetings? Used to go to every single one. Sometimes your husband came with you."

Cheryl nodded. "Right, yeah. How'd you know I…?"

"Oh, I went to all of them too, back in the day. I think I met you there, you know, quite a few years before I started working at the school." He searched her face, obviously hopeful. "Do you remember that?"

Cheryl thought for a moment. She thought back to those meetings, to the same faces that kept popping up over and over. And she did remember, however vaguely, talking to this one guy every now and then. A polite, kind police officer.

"Oh, my God!" she chuckled. "Yeah, I remember! That was you?"

Adam gave a little nod. "Yeah. When I first started working here, I…I recognized you immediately."

Cheryl's smile faded a bit. "Wha-? Then why didn't you say anything?"

"You spoke up more than anybody," Adam recalled. "Always with a question, always with some bright idea. You were—well, you still are—so passionate. You care so much about people. I always admired that about you."

Cheryl stared up at him. She was at a loss for words. Her heart pounded again, just looking at him. No, no. She couldn't do this. She had to get out of there. She stuck her head out the window and shouted, "Pete, get in the car, for God's sake!" She turned her head just in time to see her son hop into the passenger's side. That surprised her. She thought for sure he would've run while she was distracted. She turned back to Adam, whose smile had now collapsed into a disappointed frown.

Her heart ached.

"Sorry, Adam," she forced a chuckle. "I really gotta get this troublemaker home." She fumbled with the key before finally clicking it into the ignition. "We'll talk later, okay?"

Adam gave a little nod. "Yes, absolutely." He put his hat back on.

Cheryl took that as her cue to leave. She waved then quickly pulled out of the lot, probably too quickly. She sighed and rubbed at her forehead in frustration.

What is wrong with me?

Pete watched her worriedly for several moments. He'd seen her in this state before. She got so anxious around Adam, and only Adam.

He rested his head against the window. He thought and thought. His mom obviously had a thing for the police officer. She flirted with him, smiled way too much any time she was in his presence. It had been going on for years.

Why didn't she just go for it? Why not just ask him out? She'd been on plenty of dates over the years. The only thing he could figure was that Adam Flynn was different. He wasn't just some good-looking, fun-loving guy she wanted to hang out with for a while. She had serious feelings for him, she wanted him.

And that terrified her.

Pete turned to her, smiling. "So Adam's pretty great, huh? You guys should talk more."

His mom didn't reply. She kept her eyes locked on the road.

Pete sighed. "I just want you to be happy, Mom."

She punched his shoulder. "I am happy, ya big dope! Don't worry about me. I don't need a man in the house to be happy."

"I know," Pete said quickly. "I know you don't need somebody. I just thought, maybe, you'd want somebody." He raised an eyebrow. "And I do mean a certain someone, who we both know."

Cheryl just shook her head. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Right, sure."

"Do you have any idea how happy I'm gonna be when you leave for college?" She breathed a contented sigh. "I'll be over the moon! Finally I'll have the house to myself!"

Pete grinned. "Whatever. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone."

"Just a little," Cheryl chuckled. "But not much." She reached over and ruffled his hair.

Pete swatted her hand away and pretended to be annoyed. "Okay, okay, that's enough."

Cheryl smirked. "You're hopeless, Pete. So hopeless."

Pete leaned against the window again and smiled to himself.

I love you too, Mom.